Wooden Angel
by DYlogger
Summary: When Clark gives Bruce a wooden angel, it's up to Alfred to take care of it. Gen.


** Wooden Angel **

**A/N: Done for BradyGirl_12's Angels Challenge over on LJ. Not sure where this came from, but I do know I've always loved those decorative wooden angels!**

* * *

Wooden angels grew in trees. It is believed that if one finds one in nature and brings it over the threshold of their home, the angel becomes theirs and would bring them luck and joy and prosperity and whatever else one could want for as long as they kept it in their home. Angels were rare, and those who found them- usually hanging somewhere in the woods- were extremely lucky- or rich, if they wanted to sell them. Sometimes, peddlers would even attempt to carve angels of their own to sell, but they would never turn out to be as intricately perfect as real angels.

Bruce Wayne, naturally didn't believe in angels. Or, at least, he didn't believe in the supposed power of wooden angels. He knew that angels existed, but like magic, he refused to acknowledge it.

That is, until one Clark Kent brought him one for Christmas. "_I found it myself, in a forest. I thought you could use it. I know it isn't really your thing, but it's yours now anyway_," he had said, beaming.

Bruce had grudgingly taken it and it was placed on top of the Christmas tree. When January came, Alfred removed the angel and hung it over the mantle in the family room.

* * *

One day, Alfred saw the angel move on the security monitor. Bruce rarely ever entered or looked at the family room, yet for some reason, Alfred felt the urge to check the monitors. Perhaps it was magic. In any case, he saw the wooden angel move. It was nothing spectacular- there was no flash or spark of light, nor was there any glittering residue left behind as the angel flew. In fact, the angel didn't even flap its wings- it just floated about until it stopped in front of the picture of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Alfred watched in awe for what seemed to be hours- but was only a couple of minutes- until the angel floated back to its original position, hanging over the mantle, right under the portrait, as if it had never left.

Alfred immediately rushed to the family room and spoke to the angel. "I know you are sentient," he said to the wooden figure. "Why do you hide yourself from the world?"

The angel didn't respond, and Alfred thought that perhaps seeing it move was simply a figment of his imagination. He didn't return to the room for a long time.

He did, however have to come back one day, if only to clean the room. When he reached the angel, he saw a piece of paper sitting against the wall, over the angel. In neat script, it said, '_I am indeed sentient. I hide myself from greedy humans; who knows what they would do to my kind if they discovered that we could move?_'

Alfred looked up at the angel, who still hadn't moved. "I apologise on behalf of humans, Angel," he said. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I am in charge of the upkeep of this manor. Is there anything I may do to help you?"

Like last time, the angel did not respond. Alfred finished dusting and left.

The next day, he returned to see the writing on the sheet had changed. '_Hello, Alfred Pennyworth. There is nothing you can immediately do for me. In the meantime, could you bring me some fruit? It has been a long time since I have eaten._'

Alfred looked up, surprised. "My apologies, Angel, I did not consider it. I shall be back straight away with some food." A few minutes later, Alfred came back with a plate of honeydew and oranges. "I hope this is sufficient, Angel."

The note had changed, and now said '_Thank you._'

* * *

It had been a couple of weeks since Alfred first started exchanging words with the live figurine. He had learned that the angel was now bound to Wayne Manor, that it had been since Clark brought it over the threshold of the front door. He had learned that if the angel were to be brought outside, it would die. He had learned that the angel could only be freed if it was burned on a blue moon, and its ashes brought outside on the same night.

Coincidentally, the next blue moon was also the day before Bruce's birthday.

"Brucie! You never told me you got yourself a wooden angel!" simpered a socialite, who had draped herself all over the finely-dressed man.

Every year, Bruce would hold a gala in celebration of his birthday, leaving his actual birthday open to mourn for his parents. That night, when Alfred walked in the family room to give the angel its nightly plate of honeydew and orange for the last time, he caught the young master and the socialite staring at the angel in awe.

Behind Bruce, Alfred coughed. "Master Bruce, perhaps and the young Miss would like to return to the festivities?"

Bruce nodded, and led the socialite out the door. After they disappeared into the long hallways of Wayne Manor, Alfred gingerly picked up the angel and lit a match under it.

* * *

_'Dear Alfred Pennyworth,_

_Thank you for your assistance these past couple of months; they were greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to keep your knowledge of my kind. Once you finish reading this note, you will find yourself unable to recall your memories of me._

_There are very few like you, and I consider myself lucky to have had met you. Though you will not remember me, I will always remember you.'_

It was unsigned, but Alfred knew exactly who left it from the moment he saw it on the mantle. The note crumbled into dust, and flew away and disappeared like a slip of satin in a gossamer, despite the lack of wind.

"Alfred?" said Bruce. "What are you doing in the family room at this time of day?"

Alfred frowned, for he couldn't remember. "I do say, Master Bruce, that I don't have the slightest inclination." They left the room, having nothing to say after that.

Behind them, a cloud of dust swirled and the two characters in the portrait above the mantle seemed to shift and smile a little wider.


End file.
